Every word of hers is a gulp of drool and tears. The little make-up she was wearing is now smeared all over her face. It’s my own doing, indirectly.

“After all that’s happened, after all you’ve told me, after all you’ve made me change… you are going back to the starting point”. My words feel sharp in my tongue. My throat impedes any further improvements. For some reason, I am about to cry. “Funny. But no. I’m leaving. There’s no place in my heart for you to stay. Everything’s changed. I have changed. You can’t stay, because there’s nowhere to stay”.

A shiver climbs up my back as she begins sobbing, too weak to speak, too fragile to even stand up from the pool of tears she’s left on the ground. That’s how much she’s crying. And when she opens her mouth and lets out a long, long moan, I have to look away. Her diaphragm contracts rapidly, like the revolutions of an engine, and her crying is just more than I can physically bear.

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